A Crisis Of Faith
by The-Lady-Isis
Summary: Shayera is suspicious. Wally is worried. John and J’onn are jittery. Clark is confused. Diana is desperate. Bruce just bleeds. All reviews welcome.
1. Lashes

**Disclaimer: I no owny, you no suey. **

**A/N: This isn't going to be long, and I'm afraid it might offend rather a lot of people. If you feel the need to rant and rave, then do so by all means, but don't get nasty. You'll see what I mean when you get further down this chapter.**

**Crisis of Faith**

**Chapter One - Lashes**

"Any luck?"

Diana sighed. "Not yet. Still moving."

"How long is it now?" Wally asked, handing her a coffee.

"Thanks," she smiled, taking it. "And ten hours. I can't believe they haven't discovered the locator card yet. Surely it's standard practice for terrorists to remove it before they move an illegally obtained nuclear weapon."

Flash shrugged. "Maybe they're not well-educated terrorists."

Diana smiled, taking a sip of the scalding beverage in her hand. Normally she'd have an iced mocha, but somehow the chill of January had penetrated the artificially-maintained temperature of the Watchtower, so coffee it was. "Well, we're still crossing Syria at the moment. They've gone almost all the way around the world — I'm starting to wonder…" She cut herself off, shaking her head.

"Wonder what?"

"Doesn't matter. It's best not to jinx it."

"You may as well say it," he grinned. "It's too late now anyway."

The princess sighed. "I'm starting to think that perhaps they _have_ discovered the locator card, and someone's just taking it around the world, so we're on a wild goose chase."

"What, while the actual nuke is somewhere else?"

She nodded, returning her gaze to the screen. "It's a possibility."

"Yeah, but I mean…" Wally trailed off, his eyes widening behind his mask. "You don't think that's what they're actually doing, do you?"

It had been idle speculation before, but once verbalised it seemed an alarmingly real idea. "I don't know," she said honestly. "But I think we should wait before we jump to conclusions."

"You mean before we call Bats."

Diana laughed.

She wasn't laughing an hour later. The locator card was still moving, and she couldn't believe that, more than twenty-four hours after the original theft, the nuke hadn't reached its buyers yet. She sighed, bringing up another screen. On it was the shortlist of terrorist groups — one of them was responsible for the theft, and by now they were supposed to have narrowed that list down to one. They still had eight.

"We need to call Batman."

Wally nodded, leaning forward to press the sequence of keys that would access Batman's com-link. "Watchtower to Batman."

The answering voice was brusque, but after so many years that bothered neither of them. "_Batman here. What is it?_"

"We lost the nuke we were tracking."

Diana spoke. "The GPS locator card is being taken endlessly around the world; it makes sense that it's no longer connected to the device."

"_Agreed. I'm busy, you'll have to deal with it._"

She sighed. "You know that means a long-winded-"

"_Batman out._"

Diana ground her teeth in annoyance; Flash only looked thoughtful. "Huh. Wonder what's wrong with him…"

"What makes you think there's anything wrong?"

Flash raised an eyebrow. "Well, he normally hangs up on _me _with that fast. But you, Di?" He grinned. "You get at least a minute more of Bat-time than the rest of us."

She rolled her eyes and gave him a very light shove. "Shut up, Wally. Now come on, we have to organise teams to do in-depth searches of these organisations on the shortlist."

Just doing that was going to take at least a day, she knew, and add to that the week or more it would take to actually search, it would be extremely risky, but they had no choice. Not unless Batman was prepared to help. At four a.m., her shift was over. Batman still wasn't answering his com-link, so she was going to go down to the Cave and demand he help. She didn't think he'd refuse to her face. At least not if she brought coffee.

Armed with two double espressos, she teleported down to the Batcave, hoping his patrol of Gotham had been smooth.

She was not prepared for the sight that greeted her. Bruce was alone in the Cave, facing away from her and sitting on a table in the medical area. He was wrapping thick white bandages around his torso, starting at his waist and working his way up. His muscled back was covered in bleeding lacerations.

Diana dropped the coffee. "Great Hera!"

Bruce's head flicked to the side as he spoke over his shoulder. His voice was tight with both pain and anger. "For God's sake don't just stand there," he growled.

She flew up to him rather than use the stairs, landing behind him and taking the roll of sterile white linen from him. "What in Tartarus happened?"

"Nothing."

Diana stared at the expanse of his back before her — there were at least two dozen cuts here, one laid on top of the other. And they were all oozing blood. "This is _nothing_? Bruce. Tell me the truth."

He was silent. Diana pulled the bandages tighter slowly. Bruce made no sound at first, and she knew he wasn't breathing. Finally a gasp of pain was torn from his lips, and she stopped, immediately feeling guilty. Blood was already soaking through the white cloth.

"You won't believe me."

She raised her eyebrows, crossing to stand in front of him. Thankfully the rest of his body seemed to be cut-free. "I'm an immortal princess from an island of mythical warriors. Try me."

He sighed, then began speaking. Recognising her end of the deal, Diana went back to bandaging. "It's happened every night for the last week. I have no idea what's causing it; I'm being…"

"Whipped? Because that's what it looks like to me," she put in. "Bruce, this is…"

"Impossible?" he asked with a bitter laugh. "Tell me about it."

"Well, at least the bleeding's stopped," she said, tying a gentle knot.

"For now."

She shook her head. "I don't understand. Is it one lash a day, or does this happen all at once every day?"

"All at once," he replied. "What time is it?"

"About four fifteen."

He nodded, meeting her eyes for the first time. She frowned further. He looked tired — he looked genuinely, world-wearily, bone _tired_. Like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. "Well, you'll get to see in a few minutes, Princess."

"Bruce, your back is _covered _in wounds, how can your skin possibly take anymore?"

"Is it?" he asked. "Check."

Eyebrow raised, she peeled away the top of the bandages. To find that the cuts had gone. His skin was unblemished, except for a few scars that were not caused by lashing. "But that's- That's impossible!"

Bruce stood, moving over to the computer. "You wanted help finding the nuke?"

She blinked, startled. Right, she'd come down here for a reason. "Uh, yes. The locator card is still moving, but we think the nuke has reached its destination."

"And these are the groups you have under surveillance?"

She moved closer, standing beside him. "Yes. Personally I'm inclined to suspect the third one down — there's been almost a total lack of chatter according to the Liaison Officer; it dropped off about a month ago. And there's been no significant downturn or uptick with the others."

He nodded. "Good logic. And there's little expectation from an attack in that direction." He pulled up the file photo of the group's leader. He had fearfully intelligent eyes, and a cruel mouth. "He likes surprises — the bad kind."

"Alright," she nodded. "I'll inform the League."

"You should go home, Princess."

"And leave you alone?" she snorted. "I don't think so."

"Alfred-"

"Isn't here," she noted. "And I'll bet my favourite battle axe that you've told him not to bother waiting up for you."

A glare told her everything she needed to know.

She folded her arms. "I'm not leaving, Bruce, end of story."

His mouth tightened. "I don't need your help."

"Don't be-"

She cut off as Bruce lurched forward, a shocked cry of pain escaping him. Instinct made her move forward, hands reaching for him. She received another glare. With an effort of will, she stopped herself, clenching her fists. He didn't need sympathy; there was nothing she could do, no enemy she could defend him from. All she could do was wait until it was over, and tend to him then. She watched in horrified fascination. Bruce was leaning forward, bracing himself against the computer console. His hands were clenched, white knuckled, either side of the keyboard. He didn't make a sound.

There had been a little red on the bandages from before; now they were saturated in blood. Diana stared as one after another, thin red lines appeared, then spread. Soon she couldn't tell where the new wounds were opening; only that droplets of crimson were joining together and trickling down to stain his unmarked skin.

Finally, after six and half minutes — she'd counted — it stopped. Bruce barely looked as though he were capable of standing by himself. No longer caring what he might say, the princess moved forward and scooped him into her arms as gently as she could, flying back up to where the necessary medical equipment lay.

Bruce tried to speak, but she shook her head. "Hush. Let me tend to your wounds first."

Accepting the opportunity to gather his strength, Bruce nodded, his breathing still ragged. Diana worked quickly, wrapping fresh bandages around his torso. The bleeding slowed, but didn't stop, no matter how much pressure she applied.

"I can't stop the bleeding."

"You won't be able to," he told her. "It won't stop until this time tomorrow night. The bandages will need changing in a few hours."

"Alfred doesn't know, though, does he?" she asked shrewdly.

"No, and he doesn't have to."

"Bruce, he cares about you, you can't just leave him out of the loop like this-"

"Watch me."

"This isn't _normal_, for Hera's sake! How are you coping by yourself?"

"I'm coping."

Huffing out a sigh, she shook her head. "You're being impossible."

The briefest ghost of a grin crossed his face. "What else is new?"

"Bruce-" Realising she was fighting a losing battle, Diana changed topic, on to the injuries again. She wrinkled her nose at the odd scent of it. "It- It doesn't- It doesn't _smell _like blood, even. Or it does, but-"

"But you don't dislike it?" he said. "It's pleasant, perfumed."

She nodded. "What _is_ this, Bruce?"

"I have my suspicions. But until the second stage-"

"Second stage? How much worse is this going to get?" she demanded.

"I don't know yet." He stood, then disappeared into the changing area. She watched him go with mingled incredulousness and admiration. His spine was ramrod straight — there was no sign whatsoever of the pain he must be in. When he came back, he was in the full Batsuit, eyes narrowed against the world.

"Now come on. We have a nuke to find."

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**A/N: Review please!**


	2. Nails

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews! **

**Chapter Two - Nails**

Typically, Batman did in two days what it would have taken the rest of the League at least a week. Occasionally he'd disappear for twenty minutes at a time, but no one batted an eyelid at that. And no one noticed Wonder Woman following him.

The first time she did it, she'd been forced to bust the lock in order to get into his quarters, and then almost wrestle the bandages out of his hand. That same odour still wafted from the wounds; both smelling like blood and not. She was wrinkling her nose now not because it made her sick, but the opposite. And that was _wrong_. It was blood, it was a mark of pain and suffering. She was not supposed to find it…

She didn't say, 'I wish there was something I could do' — there was nothing, and Bruce had little patience for idle words. They were normally silent, except when discussing the case.

They'd based their search on their original suspicions — a group based in Tazakstan, a small state on the eastern borders of Kasnia. They were a nationalist organisation, determined to rid Tazakstan of Kasnian influence by whatever means possible — ignoring, of course, the massive amounts of aid and economic help that Queen Audrey's government was giving to its neighbour. Every satellite the League had access to was pointed over Tazakstan, and Batman directed them in sweeps across the small country, taking pictures of any likely facilities and then immediately scrutinising said photographs. Diana was beginning to understand how it was Batman found things so quickly: sheer bloody-mindedness. He didn't once skip or pass over one; every blotch on the landscape had to be identified with a microscope, whether it was a farmhouse or — once — a speck on dust on the printout.

Finally they did find something though; an abandoned steel works in a concrete-mold city from the Soviet era. It had seen a lot of comings and going in the past two weeks, more than it had in the last two decades.

"Definitely dubious," Batman remarked.

"Speaking of dubious," Diana said, "have you told Alfred yet?"

They were alone in the room, but it didn't stop him checking for anyone lurking in the shadows anyway. "Drop it, Diana."

"Have you stopped receiving lashes from an invisible whip?"

A glare. "You know I haven't."

"Then why haven't you told Alfred? Bruce, when _I _try and help you're in pain — bandaging them yourself must be agonising."

He shook his head. "It hurts, but it's not…_painful_."

She stared blankly at him. "That doesn't make sense."

"You know how it smells?" he asked. "It's like that. It hurts, but I don't want to make it go away. Which is dangerous for obvious reasons."

She nodded thoughtfully. "It has to be magic."

"Perhaps."

She raised an eyebrow. "Bruce, what else could it be? Unless there's some kind of other explanation — I can't imagine that it's a scientific thing. An invisible being I would have…felt, and I know you're not doing it yourself. Though you've probably thought of that, haven't you?"

He nodded. "In cases such as this, one explanation is normally self-mutilation. But as you saw last night, I'm not doing it to myself. Nor am I on any medication, so poisoning by anticoagulant is out too."

"Then magic is the obvious cause."

"Exactly," he nodded. "And since when is it the obvious?"

Diana sighed. "You could be a little less crypitc, Bruce. It is only the two of us, there's no need to try and impress anyone."

Bruce chuckled tiredly. "Sorry. But in answer to your question, I still don't know. It has all the hallmarks of magic, true. But…"

"But gut instinct is telling you it's not?"

He nodded, then sighed. "We'll know more once the second stage — if it develops at all — comes along."

Diana sighed, tired of talking in riddles. She switched her attention to the mission at hand. "Right, who will we need to infiltrate Tazakstan?"

"We use a diversion. Create a big noise at the front, then slip in the back and defuse the bomb — if armed — and then take it to the UN."

She nodded with a grin. "Big noise. I think I can handle that."

"Take Black Canary and Superman with you for backup. Flash, myself and GL will take the bomb."

"Alright. We should also change your dressings before we leave. If know the suit's waterproof, but soon it's going to start welling out of your neckline."

He nodded, pulling a roll of bandage and micropore out of his belt. Diana took it with a raised eyebrow. "Should I be surprised?"

He shrugged. "They've come in handy. More in the last week than in the ten years before it."

Diana sighed. "Alright then. Strip."

He stopped in the middle of taking the cowl off, dark eyebrow raised. Belatedly realising what she'd just said, Diana felt heat flood her cheeks. "I didn't mean- I mean I- That wasn't-"

He grinned. "Subconscious urges, Princess."

She glared. "Hardly subconscious, Bruce. Now take it off before I rip it."

His eyes left hers. Now fuming silently, she turned away to activate the secondary security system on Bruce's quarters. She punched the relevant instructions into the touchscreen hard, cracking the LED screen. They were both well-aware of how she still felt about him; it wasn't fair of him to tease her about it. Especially not when they both knew one other thing — that no amount of teasing or flirting meant he'd changed his mind.

He was bare to the waist when she turned back. She no longer flinched at the crimson coverings. She did when the smell hit her though. Floral, somehow. They'd worked out a system to make changing the dressings as quick as possible, their four hands working together in a vain effort to stop the bleeding.

That done, Diana turned away, still eager to leave as soon as possible. "I'll find Clark and Dinah. You get Wally and John."

"Diana-"

The doors hissed shut behind her. The princess didn't bother with opening them again to find out what he wanted. She set off in search of Superman and Black Canary, and a few moments later they were all assembled in the Javelin, speeding down toward Tazakstan.

Causing a big noise did not prove to be a problem for her. In fact, she still could have brought the entire Tazak army running by herself, without the aid of Clark or Dinah at all. When the last tank had been crunched into a rough ball and hurled half a klick away, she touched her com-link.

"Batman, do you have the device?"

"_Affirmative. Lantern's loading it onto the Javelin now._"

"Come on," she called to Superman, "we need to get it to the UN."

He smiled. "Then we can all go home. "

Diana flew Canary back to the Javelin, and with Batman at the controls they were underway, pointed toward Kasnia and the nearest UN base. They were just over halfway when he snatched his hands off the controls with a soft hiss. Diana and John, nearest to him, frowned in alarm.

"You okay, Batman?" GL asked.

"Fine. Take over."

He brushed past them to the small med-bay at the back of the ship. Diana followed after a minute, letting out a muffled gasp when she got there. He'd removed his gloves, so his wrists were visible. And there were identical wounds on each of them; small round _holes _going through his arms.

She sat opposite him, forcing her voice not to tremble. "The second stage, I presume?"

Bruce nodded. "And the same on my ankles."

"Have you checked?" she asked, glancing down to where his boots were still on.

"Don't need to. I know what it is now."

"And?"

He sighed, still looking like he'd rather tear his tongue out than say it, but after a pause he did spit it out. "Stigmata."

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**A/N: Review please!**


	3. Thorns

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews! There are some hints at BN:WW#3 here, especially for my girls Icha, DaisyJane and Hepburn. Enjoy!**

**Chapter Three** **— Thorns**

It occurred to neither of them that Clark would have heard it until the Javelin set down. The others exited the craft while Bruce and Diana waited for the hanger to be clear before she helped him limp to the infirmary. Superman was the last to exit, but he didn't move down the landing ramp. He stopped in front of them, arms folded across his massive chest. "Tell me I misheard that."

Bruce glared. "You didn't."

"But that's impossible."

With a snarl of impatience, Batman yanked his gauntlet off, pushing the sleeve up. The hole was still obvious, and now that Diana had a second look, she saw that it had square edges. It really did look like someone had driven an iron peg through his arm.

"I don't understand," she said. "What _is _this _'_stigmata'?"

Bruce was still looking dangerously up at Clark. "Cauterize it."

"What? Batman, I'm not burning you-"

"If it's a normal wound, it'll form an eschar," he interrupted. "And I'm in considerable pain here, Kent, so if you could hurry up about it?"

Diana knew already that it wouldn't work; she still didn't understand why Bruce was insisting Clark do it. Why wouldn't he just believe that it was stigmata, whatever it was? Nevertheless, Clark sighed and focused on the hole in Bruce's wrist, his eyes glowing red. Diana tried not to flinch as laser beams shot toward Batman; he didn't. She hadn't expected him to — when had the stubborn man ever admitted he was in pain, after all? — but she was aware of him tensing. The smell of burning flesh curled up to reach their nostrils, and Clark's frown got darker the longer nothing happened. If anything, he was making matters worse. The skin around the wound was now being damaged by the twin lasers, and there showed no sign of a scab forming.

Worse, the two men seemed to be locked in some kind of battle of wills — Bruce adamant that he wouldn't tell Clark to stop, despite the pain, and Clark adamant that it _couldn't _be stigmata, and therefore it was a matter of time before he healed it.

When the hole in Bruce's wrist was double its original size, Diana snapped. "Enough!"

At her angry tone, Clark switched his vision back to normal without apologising to her. He was still staring at the very liquid blood. "That's impossible."

"Impossible or not, it's happening," Diana replied. "Now will _someone _please explain to me what it is, or Hera help me-!"

"Stigmata is a…phenomenon, usually religious, that means the sufferer — or stigmatic — displays marks, wounds or phantom pain that correspond to the crucifixion wounds suffered by Christ," Bruce explained.

"So the lashes on your back…"

"Are the first sign, yes. Though they don't always happen in order."

Clark interrupted. "Bruce, they _never _happen, because they are _never _genuine! It's a nice idea, but miracles don't happen. You of all people know that! This has to be magic or something."

"I've already spoken to Zatanna," Bruce told him. "She doesn't know why I asked, but she detected no magic anywhere in my vicinity. And I'd imagine you can smell that too?"

"What, Diana's perfume?"

"I'm not wearing any perfume, Clark," Diana said quietly. "And I've seen his back. It doesn't stop bleeding until it's about to happen again, no matter what…" _No matter what I try._

Clark shook his head. "Just because Zatanna can't sense anything doesn't mean it's not magical — it could be someone invisible-"

Bruce stood up, clearly not interested in hearing whatever explanation Superman had. He'd no doubt already dismissed them, Diana thought, standing too to support him. "I'm going to the med-bay for some pain relief."

The hanger was empty, so she wrapped an arm about Bruce's waist without asking, taking most of his weight until they'd made it to the door. Once the doors were open, she let go and held a warning arm up to Clark when he moved to help Bruce. If either of them offered sympathy now then it would be the kiss of death to actually being allowed to _help _later. Clark nodded in understanding, and they turned into the main corridor to find Bruce was not moving any slower than his usual stride. Diana's lips were torn between a grin and a grimace. _That man…_

They made their way to the infirmary at a discreet distance from Batman, finding him in one of the isolation rooms, ordering the civilian staff out. No one who worked onboard the Watchtower was unfamiliar with Batman, or if they were, then they'd heard enough about him to know that when given an order by Batman, you obeyed it.

It was automatic now for Diana to help, so once the three of them were alone, she crossed to stand behind Bruce, helping him pull off the top part of the suit. Clark's eyes bulged as he saw the bandages wrapped around Bruce's torso. "That's-"

"Kal, if you say that it's impossible one more time _I _will have to hurt you before Bruce does," Diana said mildly, her eyes on Bruce's wounds.

He sighed, then pinched the bridge of his nose as if warding off a headache. Diana finished changing the bandages on Batman's back, and moved around to stand in front of Bruce, her hand outstretched. His eyes met hers briefly.

"Can you bandage it one-handed with both of your hands wounded?" she asked softly.

He stretched out his arm, turning it over to expose the slightly paler skin of his under-forearm. The hole was no less square, but slightly smaller, as if the nail driven through tapered off in size. Diana took an antiseptic wipe out of a sterile packet, swiping it carefully over and around the wound. It came away stained in blood, but at least she could satisfy herself it was clean.

"What about someone…invisible?"

"Someone invisible who managed to get between the seats of a Javelin full of League members with a sledgehammer and nails just to drive them into my wrists and ankles?"

"True."

"And I was at the controls," Bruce reminded his friend. "It could have caused me to lose control of the craft and crash — endangering the lives of everyone onboard. Including your invisible friend."

"He's not my- Bruce, I didn't-" Clark cut off, ending his non-sentence with a sigh. "Okay, so no invisibility." He paused, then asked somewhat timidly, "Do you really think it's stigmata?"

"There's one more possibility," Bruce said. "Contact Dr Fate, and we'll have him scan the neighbouring dimensions for something that could be interfering with me."

"Good idea. If there's not?"

"Then we'll have to look for another explanation."

Clark left the room soon after that, and while Diana saw to his other hand, Bruce swung his legs up onto the gurney and pulled his boots off, tending to his ankles himself. Once she was finished, Diana cleared up and stood back, observing him with her hands on her hips. "I take if you've run blood tests on yourself."

"Yes. No toxins, mutagens, viruses or nanobots."

She nodded, sighing. "How many more stages are there?"

"It's difficult to say. Not all stigmatics undergo all of the symptoms."

"But some do?"

"Some do. Traditionally it's lashes, nails, the crown of thorns, a spear wound in the side and…"

"And what?" Diana asked sharply.

"Well, that's normally it."

"Normally?" she persisted. "Bruce, you said yourself, it's never obvious or normal with our lives. Do you think what happened to Christ will happen to you?"

He shrugged brutally. "It's a possibility. But I'm not planning on dying."

She folded her arms. "You'd better not. I'd hate to have to drag you kicking and screaming from the Elysian Fields."

"We're talking about Christ and stigmata and God knows what else, and you still think I'll go to the Elysian Fields?"

"Yes," she said stubbornly. "Unless you wish to avoid me for all of eternity."

It was Bruce's turn to speak sharply, as his eyes lanced to hers. "You're spending all of eternity alive, Diana. Not in the Elysian Fields."

She smiled and sat beside him. "I'm an Amazon, Bruce. A warrior. It's unlikely I'll win in every battle I enter."

"Stop it."

"Why?" She raised an eyebrow. "It's a possibility. A probability, in fact."

"Diana, _stop_ it," he ordered. "You're not-"

"Not what? Allowed to die?"

"No," he replied. "I'm the one who-"

He cut off, but nothing else needed to be said. It was quite obvious. _He_ was the mortal, _he _was the one who would leave her, _he _would be the one who would be mourned. _His _reasons were still valid. That was why they couldn't be together. Because as long as he was going to die, Diana would have to mourn him.

"Do you truly believe that it would hurt less?" she asked softly. "Mourning a friend over mourning a lover?"

"Of course it would," he said, as if she were being silly.

"And what if I'm already in love with you, Bruce?"

His dark blue eyes widened momentarily, and then narrowed again. "You're not."

"How do you know?"

"I know you."

She nodded, acknowledging that. "Then you also know that you're one of my best friends. That you will be until the day you die. And you know that I love my friends. It's not a question of severity of grief, Bruce. And I think you know better than to think that I'll give up living once you're dead. I'm not one for pining."

"Now you're making me sound arrogant," he grumbled.

A brief grin touched her lips. "You are arrogant, Bruce, but that's not what I mean. Even if you die tomorrow, and I discover afterward I love you — will that stop me living? Will it stop me fighting?"

He did not seem to have an answer for that.

Diana leaned forward, kissed him briefly on the mouth before he could protest. "If you know me at all, Bruce, you know that isn't the case."

Before he could reply, Superman's voice came over both their com-links. "_Dr Fate's arrived. He's waiting in the conference room._"

Diana touched her ear. "We'll be there soon."

Dr Fate was unable to sense anything, he told them. Bruce reacted with his normal neutrality, but Diana had to hide a smile at Clark's annoyance. Not that Dr Fate had found nothing, but that underneath the blanket lack of emotion, there was slight smugness in Bruce's tone. The smugness was swiftly exterminated.

The first drop of deeply crimson blood was easy to miss; Bruce's hair was so dark, after all. But the second, and the third, caught Diana's attention. She stared, horribly captivated by the slow, inexorable motion of the droplets as they rolled down to his neck. Then the fourth, trickling down his forehead. That one, Bruce felt. He put a still-bare hand up to touch it, and his eyes darted to Diana's once his fingertips came away red. Like most wounds, once evidence was seen, the pain arrived. His eyes narrowed, and a small crease appeared between his eyebrows. Anyone else, it could have been taken for pensiveness.

Diana swallowed. "The crown of thorns."

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**A/N: Review please!**


	4. Longinus, Part I

**A/N: Thank you to Angel Queen for the beta. **

**Chapter Four—Longinus, Part I**

There was more blood than Diana had expected, bit then, scalp wounds did bleed liberally. But they also normally clotted quickly. _At this rate he'll need a transfusion_, she thought worriedly. With the wounds in his wrists, ankles, back and now this, he must be losing an alarming amount of blood. Or was he? He didn't look pale, he wasn't shaky—there were none of the usual signs of massive blood-loss. And that strange odour still persisted, replacing the usual sterile atmosphere of the infirmary with one of a sunlit meadow.

Batman had wrapped bandages around his own head, but tiny dots of crimson had already begun to appear. In another twenty minutes or so they would be sodden.

"We should inform the others," she said. "J'onn especially. If magic isn't the problem then perhaps it's a psychic one."

Batman agreed—not that it had been a request—and Diana contacted the rest of the Founders for an emergency conference. Cowl replaced, Batman slipped out of the infirmary while her back had been turned for half a second. Diana got the message and entered the conference room a few moments after he did. Flash, John, and Shayera were the next to arrive, then Superman and finally J'onn.

Batman launched straight in. "Over the past two weeks, for unknown reasons, I've been undergoing stigmata—my body is manifesting the wounds supposedly suffered by Christ before his death. So far the symptoms are lacerations on my back, holes through my wrists and ankles and now multiple puncture wounds and scratches on my scalp. Magic as the cause has already been ruled out thanks to Dr Fate, and an invisible being is also highly improbable. J'onn, can you sense a telepathic presence?"

The Martian rose from his seat and put his hands either side of Batman's head, his eyes glowing orange for several moments while he searched. Diana watched his face for the merest flicker of deviancy from its normal neutrality; thought she saw a shade of a frown appear on his bald brow. Finally he drew back.

"There is something," he confirmed. "But it's too vague and too...big, for me to track down source or type. If it is a telepathic being, then they are either too skilled or simply too powerful for me to grasp them. Certainly I cannot block the access to Batman's mind. I am sorry, my friend," he apologised.

"So it could be God then," Superman muttered.

The temperature of the room dropped by about fifty degrees as Batman lashed a chilling glare across the table. "If you don't have anything helpful to contribute then why don't you just fly off back to Metropolis?"

"Why isn't it a possibility?" the Kryptonian shot back. "Millions of people all around the world hold Christian beliefs—_billions_ follow a monotheistic religion. Are you saying they're _all_ wrong?"

"Categorically yes," Batman snapped. "Right now, Diana is the only person on Earth who's even close to right in her beliefs, and that is only because the League has interacted with her gods. If there's no evidence for something, it doesn't exist, end of story," he finished harshly.

There was a ringing silence, then Wally scratched the back of his head. "Just a bit bleak there, Bats."

"Life is!" was the barked rebuke.

Without another word, Batman rose and left the room, probably heading to the infirmary to replace one of his dressings. In the void which followed, Diana could see too-well what would happen—they, not having seen the wounds, would worry in an aimless way and investigate without real focus. With their strategic leader temporarily out of the picture, Diana had no intention of letting them all run around like headless ducks. _Chickens_, she mentally corrected herself. It would have to be up to her to marshal the troops.

She cleared her throat quietly; in the silence everyone heard her.

"Flash, look into other religions besides Christianity—see if anything similar to stigmata happens in any of them. Stick to mainstream religions, we haven't got time for you to pursue every cult in the world."

The young man nodded. "Can do, Di." He zoomed away.

The princess turned to John. "GL, what about the Lantern Corps? Any race or entity they've come across with the ability to alter the unconscious mind in people, produce psychosomatic symptoms like this?"

He shook his head slowly. "Not that I know of."

"Can you take a Javelin to Oa and find out?"

He nodded, but Diana held a palm up to stop him leaving just yet. "Shayera, what's the Thanagarian religion like?"

The redhead shrugged. "Pretty primal compared to most human ones. Our gods are death, war, birth. Stuff like that. I've never been a believer."

Diana pursed her lips. "So you have no religious texts here?"

"Some ancient poetry but that's about it."

"Every little helps. Read them on the flight—you're going with John."

The ex-lovers glanced at each other, surprised. "But-"

"Look, we don't know when the next manifestation will take place," Diana said impatiently. "It could be a week from now, it could be in ten minutes. Either way, we _do not_ have time to waste!"

They left soon after—there had been little room for argument in Diana's tone, after all. She looked at her Martian colleague. "J'onn, can you stay with Batman? I know you said it was too powerful, but if you could try and limit whatever it is, as much as you can? Please?"

J'onn stood. "I will do what I can."

Diana smiled in gratitude as he left the room, but her attention was diverted by a sulky mutter from the seat on her right. "So you want me and my beliefs out of the way too then?"

"No," she said patiently. "I was hoping you could tell me more about stigmata, about the crucifixion. I know so little about it."

Clark raised his eyebrows. "Oh. Okay. What do you want to know?"

"As much as you do. You are a Christian, right?"

"Yeah. Well, it's how I was raised."

"Then I couldn't ask for a better teacher," she encouraged.

"Alright. Well, Christ was betrayed by one of his disciples—Judas Iscariot—to the Roman authorities in Jerusalem. He was mocked and whipped. He was called King of the Jews, so they fashioned a crown of-"

"-thorns," Diana completed. "And the nails through his wrists and ankles?"

"On Good Friday he was nailed to the cross and left there to die, and then-"

"Wait, '_Good_ Friday'? How is it good if he died?"

"Well in so doing, he purged mankind of their sins and saved them."

"Oh." That still didn't make much sense to her, but then again, neither was it a pressing problem. "Alright, what about the spear wound Bruce was talking about?"

"A Roman soldier stabbed Christ in the side, to test if he was dead. When he did, blood gushed out. Along with water, according to some accounts. Anyway, after he was dead, he was taken down from the cross and wrapped in a shroud and buried in a cave. A huge stone was rolled over the doorway, and that was supposed to be that."

"_Supposed_ to be?"

"Yes; three days later—on what is celebrated as Easter Sunday—one of his followers named Mary Magdelene went to his grave, to find him gone."

"A disciple?"

Clark shook his head. "Magdelene wasn't a disciple. Or isn't classed as one anyway."

"Why, because she was a woman?"

"Probably. Christianity—at least in its early stages—wasn't know for its sexual equality."

Diana frowned, but indicated for him to continue.

"Right. Well, he'd been resurrected. Through...the power of God. Soon after he ascended to Heaven."

"How?"

"Bible's not very clear," Clark said apologetically.

The Amazon nodded thoughtfully. "Alright. Could you try and find anyone still living who might have undergone the same thing? I realise it must be hard for you," she said quickly, seeing the wary expression which crossed his face, "that this must be challenging your beliefs in the most uncomfortable of ways, but please, Superman. How far would he go if it was you?"

He nodded resolutely. "I'll let you know what I find."

A voice spoke from the doorway, amused with a derisive edge. "And what are my orders, General? Stay in bed and rest?"

Diana smiled at Bruce as he came further in. "No. You and I are going to do something more dangerous and difficult than what the others have to do—tell Alfred."

Bruce's smile vanished like a rat up a drainpipe. "He doesn't need to know, Princess."

"Am I right in thinking," she asked, "that so far you've not had to cut down on social activities because of the stigmata?"

She took the glowering silence to mean yes.

"And unless you intend to go to functions with the cowl on—rather defeating the point of attending in the first place—the bleeding from your head is going to be hard to conceal."

"Skiing accident," he said.

"A skiing accident which left you with non-coagulating wounds?"

He glared. "Your point?"

"Alfred's going to notice when you stop going out. He'll find out why then anyway. This way you can tell him rather than risk his anger later."

She wasn't quite sure what living with an angry butler would be like, but in her experience, British people were experts at being cutting. Plus Diana was willing to bet that Batman's famous glare had more than a little Alfred in it.

Finally Bruce's shoulders slumped about three millimetres, and the sweet taste of victory appeared on Diana's tongue. He tried one more half-hearted objection. "It doesn't need two of us to tell him."

"It does if one of us doesn't trust the other to do so."

He glared. "Diana."

She smiled. "Yes?"

"You owe me for this."

"Don't get into the subject of unpaid debts, Bruce. Not even your bank account is big enough to cover what you owe me after all these years."

* * *

**A/N: Review please!**


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